Showing posts with label good old days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good old days. Show all posts

Thursday, January 19, 2023

Keeping 'Good Old Days' Alive...

It's another buses-cancelled day so no kiddos for childcare...
Leaving some extra opportunity to practice what I poem ๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ’•


Pour a second cup, dark umber




Because I start and finish with the same stanza
 this poem can be read from the top down 
or bottom up!

Put a kettle on to simmer
Watch flame-dancers twist and jive
Let the simple joys of winter
Keep the good, old days alive

Ease the angst of hurried lunch-breaks
Like a sabbath middle-day
Count the stars that fall in snowflakes
Wake the child that lost its way

Watch the birds without vain fretting
About what we cannot know
He who feeds sparrows is setting
Tomorrow’s ducks in a row

Let prudence and leisure mingle
Home-sweet-domesticity
While chores, books and gales rekindle
Good old days waiting to be

Pour a second cup, dark umber
It is winter. Sit and nod
Sweat and toil of summer slumber
Aching feet rest, slipper-shod

Taste a bit ‘o Brit tradition
Have a biscuit with your tea
Sometimes happiness is hidden
In plain-sight-simplicity

Let nature nourish and gladden
Gather barren branch bouquets
Plant a bowl-sized indoor garden
Let winter thrill and amaze

Make music with moment measure
Shake a fist at sparrow-hawk
Practice culinary pleasure
Do not haste the hungry clock

Crosswords, puzzles, scrabble, kittens
Paint a pic with poem-ink
Don a parka, hat and mittens
Let frost kisses turn cheeks pink

Savor winter’s favors slowly
Let its flavors steep each sense
With thanksgiving, meek and holy
Drink in argent ambience

Put a kettle on to simmer
Watch flame-dancers twist and jive
Let the simple joys of winter
Keep the good, old days alive


© Janet Martin





Thursday, March 11, 2021

Happiness, Heaven-on-earth and Love


This poem was written with young parents in mind but
has something in it for us oldies too๐Ÿ˜‰๐Ÿ˜„
(yes, it's muddy boots and wet-everything season!)
(because I do childcare some 'memories' stay quite fresh๐Ÿ˜…)


"Me? Trouble?!! 
How can you even think it?!"


It doesn’t always look like much; the noisy thick of it
Can spill and spread in such a way to make you ‘sick’ of it
Yes, you confess the mess is often quite more-than-enough
It doesn’t look like happiness, heaven-on-earth or love

You slip on the spaghetti that your darling toddler flung
Next week you’ll find one dried to the ceiling or a chair wrung
The toy-box you replenished at Christmas with eager joy
Is like a decoration ignored by dear girl and boy

Between lost socks-boots-mittens, you find scribbles on the wall
Where budding artists practiced while you answered a phone call
First signs of spring are tracked across the fresh-mopped kitchen floor
‘Enjoy these Best of Days’ says ‘Mrs. Old’ who lives next door

The sink is full of dishes while fridge and cupboard run bare
Baby is teething so you do not have patience a hand to spare
You sure could use the nap your youngster refuses to take
It would work such sweet wonders for your arms, back and headache

The bills are due, there are a few you had not counted on
Thank God for work and by His grace you’ll keep chugging along
…where Something steals your breath as only Little Tot can do
And you forget all but the precious face looking at you

Yes, it can feel like quite a fight, the messy ‘stick’ of it
Keeps you from understanding quite, the tender quick of it
But some day you’ll look back and see (like we did) sure enough
That this really is/was happiness, heaven-on-earth and love

(Optional ending)

(…the point to this ditty I guess is, whether young or old
In the middle of muddle-cuddle-mess-blessed hug-and-hold
Or past the place of youth and grace as we embrace ‘what’s next’
And wonder at the mirror-face, half-laughing and half-vexed

…we ought to try to take and make the best of where we are
Nobody needs to be perfecto or a super-star
But learn to count the beauties and the blessings one by one
Because no matter where we are, where we are is soon gone!)

© Janet Martin



Friday, November 27, 2020

A Picture Hides A Thousand Words





While I was arranging my advent center-piece
the dried black beans I soaked overnight boiled over. 


(every so often I soak a bunch, then cook and freeze them)
It doesn't seem to matter how big a pot I use they will boil over 
into a black mess on the stove!
It's just ridiculous how much foam they create!
So, as serene as the centerpiece appears, all by itself
it sits among the mess and hub-bub of life
and the smell of burnt bean-water in the burner๐Ÿ˜†

Reminded me of the drama of taking family-photos
which for us is not an annual event!
First there's the, 'what shall I WEAR?!!
To the 'you're not wearing That, are you?! 
to Mom, does this look okay?
 to 'how's my hair?'
 to, mom's hesitant query to the nonchalant one; are you...ready??? 
and the not-hesitant 'yup'!.

SO much more than meets the eye goes into The Family Photo!
But. It . Happened.
Thanks to a nice November Sunday
and super photographer Brittany Ruppert 
for all her amazing farm animal noises which kept
children and adults distracted/relaxed/laughing/smiling!
(the reason Victoria is just about dying of laughter on every photo)๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚



A picture hides a thousand words 
Behind its tidy guiles 
Is so much more than seen or heard 
In polished, paper smiles 

A picture only snares a glimpse 
We siphon from the mess 
To capture from the chaos, glints 
Of arranged happiness 

Oh, Brant 'Johnny' dear, don’t cross your eyes 
Quick, click the shutter please 
Where, fingers crossed, we snare a prize 
Midst disharmonic ‘c-h-e-e-e-se’ 

A photo (do not be deceived) 
By that which visage meets/metes 
For meek, sweet stance is oft achieved 
Through threats or promised treats 

Now everybody, one-two-three 
Oh no! I laughed-blinked-sneezed 
And ho, he thinks I didn’t see 
What Mister Kissed-her squeezed 

I’m thankful for the memento 
Of precious photograph 
I’m thankful that they only show 
The quiet, composed half 

I’m thankful for the keepsakes of 
Seasons soon turned to Was 
While time steals days but never love 
In spite of all it does 

I’m thankful for the sweet half-lie 
In tidy, pretty pose 
Of so much more than meets the eye 
…unless you are a rose 

I'm thankful for moments that smiled
Midst life's rough-tumble ways 
As we capture for morrow's child
Snapshots of Good Old Days

© Janet Martin 

Monday, October 26, 2020

About The Good Old Days...



Some supper-nights are more chatter-y than others; 
lots of laughter at tonight's meal reminded me to Cherish



It takes more than reviving old-fashioned cake recipes (like Queen Elizabeth cake
to bring back the good-old-days, but we kitcheneers sometimes try
because we never know what recreating nostalgic flavours will create;
perhaps some youngster's good-old-day memories!
Maybe for my family it will be something like tonight's roasted veggies and chili!


More this year than ever before have I heard (sometimes from my own mouth)
'I miss the old normal' or
'I miss the good, old days'


Although we cannot bring back ‘good, old days’ sweetened by years 
Where, smoothed beneath the hand of time its grindstone disappears 
We ought to strive to keep alive the essence of its How 
And serve it up in ways that seem quite ordinary now 

The gold gong in yon belfry has not changed since time began 
The length and breadth of day to day the same since Adam’s clan 
And love, in spite of all the flaws and faux pas of people 
Is still the Greatest Commandment no progress can annul 

We cannot toss a lure into the deep and draw to shore 
Like a big bass, walleye or pike, those dear-old-days of yore 
But we can seek to emulate the impressions they wove 
And make, even in modern days some good-old-days to love 

Because it is life’s simple things that never lose their charm 
The joy a dinner hour brings where homes are welcome-warm 
And we use words like God, mom, dad, I’m sorry, try again 
Until these days don’t seem so bad that no good can remain 

How common seem the threads that weave mementos, held most dear 
Where echoes waft in pictures that grow more perfect each year 
Because, Time’s tender touch brushes blemishes from Past’s art 
To make the ‘good old days’ a priceless treasure of the heart 


© Janet Martin 


Thursday, January 16, 2020

Pictures, Echo-refined


 for the ka-jillion times I've done this,
there are no photo-keepsakes, I remarked to Victoria yesterday,
Maybe we should have one to tuck into good-old-day archives

 ...'and so we take a closer look at common here-and-now'
which includes numb bum from the hard floor etc.๐Ÿ˜Š
but sometimes book-looking needs to happen right where we are or 
we never do!

Its raw edges are smooth like stones washed by the sighing sea
The grace of years has brushed spent fears, like tears, from memory
And what had honed our hopes back then as dreams keened hunger’s gaze
Has forged the ups and downs of them into the good old days

Time, as it slips through our skin softens its yester-blow
And sweetens love’s incumbent growing pains of letting go
Then, while the winds of change insist upon time’s changeless ways
The gray and gold of have-and-hold soft-molds new good, old days

The aftermath of ordinary highs and lows becomes
A sort of path we wander in a world of tallied sums
It fills thought’s weathered pages with a tender hymn that plays
Across the modern ages of tomorrow’s good, old days

And so we take a closer look at common here-and-now
Soon turned to pages in a book that Past perfects somehow
While we grapple with ties that bind today’s momentous frays
Into pictures, echo-refined in Bygone’s good old days

© Janet Martin

This poem was written with a tender prayer included
for those whose good, old days really were the best before...
before sickness and death severed ties and altered pages forever!

Saturday, January 19, 2019

With Nothing But Kind Thought...

Yesterday some of us traveled those dusty roads to the Past as we lived some Good Old Days of the Goldstone General Store. It reminded me of something my dad used to say not exactly like this but with the same meaning; the reason we have Good Old Days is because Time has a way of smoothing away sharp edges leaving only scenes of loveliness to fondly cherish.

It's like wishing for summer in winter...
we forget its extreme fatigue and unrelenting task-master 
as we wander its perfect flower fields
in perfect temperatures!

Beneath the frozen autographs of snow drifts and ice jams
A world of brooks and gardens waits to laugh and leap like lambs
This connoisseur of frosted lures and glitter-tulle knee-deep
Will soon indulge meadow and moor with buttercups and sheep

Desire digs its heels into the hub of skin and bones
Its appetite appeals to hunger’s ever-present thrones
Time’s ceremonial season-tide excites the dreamer’s thirst
Then washes to the other side of reach, echo-immersed

The steaming mugs we hug to gratify both taste and touch
Are like little vacations from Duty’s demands and such
One season to another lends both hunger and reprieve
As all that we hold dear becomes part truth, part make-believe

Beneath the lathe that smooths sharp edges and hard to-do list  
A precious wonderland evolves, swathed in soft purple mist
With pain of toes we stubbed and strain of loads we lugged forgot
As we recall fond days gone by with nothing but kind thought

© Janet Martin  





Friday, January 18, 2019

Rest In Peace, Lois


and thank-you for the fond memories! 
In all the years I knew Lois two things never changed; her smile and her hair-colour!
 I took some photos of photos in an album from 1983, 
the year the Goldstone General Store closed its doors.

Oh, how I wish I would have one photo of the candy counter, our childhood paradise
and motivator of many a garden-fare picked and podded, husked etc!
A nickel for every cup of peas we podded, now, 
that was incentive to be careful not to spill your bowl or eat too many!
The patience of 'the store-keeper' has impressed all of us Martin-children as we recall our lengthy escapades at the candy-counter, while her kitchen-chores waited, a few steps away!


We, wide-eyed with a dime to spend
Would stand and debate without end
(it must have seemed to she who smiled)
…and waited as the Martins whiled
Her precious afternoon to end
Because we had a dime to spend
And tried to stretch each cent somehow
As far as candies would allow
Or bubble-gum, like graperoo
(With it you got a cartoon too)
And if the whole stick you dared to ‘waste’
You could blow bubbles as big as your face
Or, would blackballs be the best deal?
Two for a penny, that’s twenty! A steal
But then that would mean no candy hearts
Or licorice or delicious sweet-tarts
Or fun-dip, or sugar straws or lollipops
So much to choose from in candy shops
And the floor would squeak beneath our feet
As we gazed at a wonderland of sweets
Where there’s a lot of angles to contend
With when you have a dime to spend
Sometimes as we mulled over facts of money
Lois would slice a pound of baloney
And tend to another neighbour or two
Who hurried in and out with far more to do
Than stare through the stars in their eyes to decide
Which flavour would accompany tasks tonight

© Janet Martin




Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Not Finished Yet...





Sometimes when looking back we think
We want what time has mimed to naught
Save in the pitter-patter of
Love tiptoeing across our thought

Sometimes when looking back we hear
What we think are the good, old days
And we allow love’s bitty tear
To cheer us with its good, old ways

Sometimes when looking back we feel
The touch of time, surreal and keen
This thing that heals can cut the heart
With nothing but the what-has-been

Sometimes when looking back we chase
A place that no longer exists
And overlook rainbows of grace
Spiraling where today untwists

Sometimes when looking back we see
Scenes that no hand can resurrect
And suddenly the heart is stirred
To salvage days not finished yet

© Janet Martin

In a week from today I will celebrate the half-century mark if time tarries, so
I think that entitles me to a teeny-weeny bit of looking back
if simply to remind me of God's love and faithfulness!